“Why did you bring him,” I hear Grant try to whisper over the club music.

“Shouldn’t he be fucking a computer or something,” Doug responds.

“Because he’s my brother, and I like to spend time with him. Stop being assholes,” Elias defends me loud enough for me to hear.

Elias’ friends aren’t fond of me. I’m not fond of them either. Just art school dropouts. More concerned with looking like artists and living the artists life than actually making art. Elias actually finished so I’m not sure when he found time to be friends with these jerks. They just sit around all day pretending to be depressed and updating LiveJournal about not wanting to live if it’s all a lie. All for attention. Fake smart assholes who care about mental health on the internet but not in real life unless it’s some celebrity they care about. Just dickwads craving attention. Fake ass Basquiat impersonators.

“You good? Here, have a shot,” Elias hands me a small glass.

I drink it without a second thought, “what is that,” I cough as it stings my throat going down.

“Vodka,” he laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you something else to drink.”

I never got why we all come to a nightclub together, then split up. Elias leaves me to go find love on the dance floor. I don’t really care where Doug and Grant went off to. I take a seat at the bar and see what everyone else is drinking. Straight shots of clear and brown liquors. Drinking is not my forte, but I think that pot is really starting to take hold.

“What can I get you,” the bartender asks.

“Oh, I just had a drink.”

“Usually people don’t stop at one,” he jokes.

“Well, I don’t usually drink any.”

“A smoker then?”

“Yeah,” why did I just lie to this guy?

“Sure, you are. This doesn’t seem like your kind of place,” he called my bluff.

“You’re right. My brother brought me here for my birthday. Wants me to meet a nice girl.”

“At this place,” he bursts into laughter. “Your brother has a lot to learn about nice girls.”

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“He’s better than I am with the ladies.”

“Maybe you should be looking for something other than the ladies,” he smiles at me.

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

He laughs again “about that drink. What kind of flavors do you like?”

“Umm, I like sour things and fruits”

“I like fruits too,” he laughs again, he laughs a lot, “I’ll be right back.”

“This is good,” I sip the drink he made, “what is it.”

“Midori Sour, that’s your drink now. This one is on the house. I have to go help some other customers, try to relax and mingle. You’re a likeable person. I’m here if you don’t find that special lady,” the bartender heads off.

I try to do what everyone has been telling me to do. I need to relax. I make my way to the dance floor and move around a little. I’m sure I look stupid and uncoordinated but nobody says anything. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. Should people be talking or are they talking about me and I just can’t recognize it? I’m the only person who isn’t dancing with someone else. Maybe that’s the problem. I spot a woman standing along the wall by herself. I can tell she doesn’t really want to be here either.

“Hey, do you want to dance,” I make my way over to her.

“What?”

“Do you want to dance?”

“I don’t know you,” she has a point.

“Okay. I’ll be around if you want to dance,” drugs and alcohol make rejection easier to take. Wait, am I going to be an addict now?

Maybe it’s the pot from earlier, maybe it’s the drinks I had or maybe I’m just having a panic attack and I’m suddenly thinking of all the ways that this is the wrong place for me. But, I’m hot and I can’t breathe right now. Am I inebriated or am I having a panic attack? Wait, I just asked that. I don’t know, I might just be a hypochondriac. I haven’t had a panic attack since maybe junior year of college. I just start moving through the crowd of people until I can find a bathroom.

Inside smells like it hasn’t been cleaned in forever, sweat mixed with must but mostly urine. I can hear the sounds of a sex from the other side of the wall. At least someone is having a good time, I guess. I look at myself in the dirty mirror and try to calm down for a moment. I splash some water on my face and wipe it off. Some quick breathing and I’m feeling a little better. I love Elias, but this is his world not mine. Just a little while longer and I can get out of here. I just need to go out there, pretend I’m having a good time and I can go home and never come back.

Outside the bathroom and my senses are instantly overloaded again. It seems like the music is even louder and there’s more people inside. All the false confidence I had built up in the bathroom is gone in an instant.

“Yo, where have you been,” Elias approaches me with his friends.

“Oh, I was just mingling with people.”

“In the men’s room? That’s some strange mingling,” Doug half jokes.

“If that’s your kind of mingling I hear the bartender is into that,” Grant adds.

“Fuck off,” I’m really not in the right mind state to deal with their crap.

“Don’t let them get to you. They’re just upset nobody is giving them the time of day,” Elias tries to keep the peace. “Let’s go grab a table to chill out for moment.”

“Do you have table money,” Grant starts with the jokes again.

“I do,” I pipe up. I don’t like to brag about income, but fuck him.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got table money tonight. That’s what happens when you actually sell art and don’t just post on Myspace all day,” Elias with the dunk off the assist.